


The Party

by Twele



Series: Changes [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Funerals, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Irreversible Change AU, M/M, Mourning, Past Billy/Steve, Period-Typical Homophobia, Steve is dead, billy pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twele/pseuds/Twele
Summary: Further after effects from my main story Irreversible Change.Probably makes little to no sense if you haven't read the rest of the series.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, past Billy Hargrove/Original Male Character
Series: Changes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676743
Comments: 33
Kudos: 40





	1. Henderson

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to consolidate these little story-lets into combined ones so that the 'Series' isn't too long. Hopefully the way I've grouped them makes sense.

Billy didn’t stay with the Wheelers all that long in the end. Despite the ever-strange dynamic between himself and Little Wheeler, staying with them was lovely and sweet and all that jazz but sleeping in a basement was never a permanent solution to Billy’s housing problem really. Besides, after only a handful of nights on that lumpy, old couch, his back was more like that of a man about thirty years his senior and he _really_ was feeling all shades of guilty for imposing.

In the end, it was Hopper who took the initiative. Word had _somehow_ reached him of the Neil incident of Sunday and, by Wednesday, he and El were sitting in the Wheeler’s lounge, warm beverages in their hands, explaining how Billy needed a more definite place to live until he was able to find his own place; until he had a paying job that he could support himself with.

The whole conversation pretty intensely foreshadowed a future that Billy still didn’t feel ready to comprehend, let alone accept. Thankfully, while the adults hashed it out between them, El moved to sit close to him on the couch, their arms touching in a secret gesture of unity. It was sweet and grounding but was just another thing that made Billy think of Steve. How they’d had to steal physical contact like this. How every touch had to have an excuse; a plausible reason.

Shaking his head, Billy had bitten his lip and taken another sip of the coffee Karen had made for him. Dark but a little sweet; just the way he liked it. Over the past few days, she’d really taken on that ‘mom’ role that he’d never let himself miss before now; she really was a saint.

After several assertions of Billy’s wellbeing from Karen and more than a few put-upon sighs from Hopper, it was agreed that he would move into the attic room in Hopper’s place. Billy was assured that he could ‘do up the place’ and ‘make it his own’ but, in all honesty, nothing sounded less appealing than DIY right now. All the same, by Wednesday night, he was tucked up on the mattress that Hopper had laid out for him in what was now ‘his room’.

“We’ll get you set up with furniture and the essentials at the weekend…” Hopper said as he loitered in the hatch that was the only way in and out of the room. Looking at the floating head of the chief of police, the old Billy Hargrove would have sniggered. It was fucking surreal.

But the new Billy couldn’t bring himself to do more than nod his agreement. That day had been the day when news had hit Hawkins High of when Steve’s funeral would be.

“Goodnight, kid,” Hopper had said and Billy mumbled his reply. Wrapping his arms around himself the moment Hopper disappeared and the hatch was closed, Billy let out a shuddering breath, tears already brimming back up like the never-ending tide that they were right now.

Next Wednesday; June 19th. Next Wednesday they would have a funeral for the boy he loved. Next Wednesday they would bury an empty casket and cry and share all their shit. And Billy would just have to stand there. He would have to stand there in his suffering and pretend that it was just a _friend_ that he’d lost; that his whole world hadn’t been left empty now that Steve Harrington wasn’t in it.

Next Wednesday was going to suck.

\---

The funeral sucked.

Billy stood in the reception room for the wake, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had been standing with Nancy and Jonathan, huddled together in their little group, but then the rest of the Wheelers had joined them. And the Byers. And the Hoppers. All in all, it was far too many people all looking down in the mouth and solemn. Despite not having anything against them individually -and, in fact, being quite _fond_ of them all- it was just too much for Billy. Too many voices, too many stories; just too much.

He’d whispered his excuse to Nancy and separated off from the group to get himself the drink that he now held in his hand. Looking over at them all now, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“So…” a lisping voice broke Billy out of his own thoughts; returning him to the moment. He looked to his right and saw the familiar tuft of curly, brown hair; the same, albeit slightly altered by grief, pudgy face. Henderson.

Exhaling deeply, Billy took another swig before repeating the kid’s same vague sentiment, “So…”

“What did you think of… all of _that_?” the younger boy asked, his voice a little hoarse but otherwise pretty level. Billy wasn’t surprised at the slight change in his voice, to be honest. The way the kid had been crying at the graveyard, it was no wonder his throat was a little fucked.

Billy felt torn. On the one hand, he’d just escaped having to talk to people and Henderson was wrecking it. On the other hand, this was _Henderson_ ; Steve’s _Henderson_. Billy had already let the kid down in giving him rides to school like Steve had done. The least he could do was chat shit with him.

“I think it sucked…” Billy replied after a moment’s consideration. There really was no point in denying it. Everything -from the flower arrangements, to the speeches, to the music- it was all wrong. Just plain fucking wrong. Like people who had never met Steve had planned the whole fucking thing.

“Definitely,” the kid agreed and Billy had to turn to look down at him. He’d mirrored Billy’s position against the wall marvellously -just as he had done in the Byers’ kitchen the morning after Steve had died- leaning against the wall with his soda held in one hand. “Steve would have hated it,” he added and Billy felt the smallest hint of a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. “I mean… that _coffin_? It’s a good job his body wasn’t in there because I _know_ he’d have rather been cremated than shoved in that thing!” the kid continued and Billy couldn’t stop himself from huffing out a chuckle. 

“What about those flowers?” he joined in, gesturing at the bouquets that were all over the hall; the same arrangements that had been all over the casket. “They smell like shit – Steve would have bitched and moaned about that smell, you know he would,” he explained and Henderson gave a small laugh.

“Yeah! He’d have insisted on something milder something-”

“- _cliché_ and _tacky_ ,” Billy offered thinking back to the boutonnieres that the older boy had bought them. “He’d be a dork and want white roses or some shit,” he continued and Henderson was laughing again and nodding.

“He totally would! White roses and a simple, elegant coffin. No stupid gold embellishments or black-stained shittiness,” he exclaimed and now Billy was nodding. “God! Even this music is too classy! He’d have wanted- I dunno, something-”

“- _lamer_?” was Billy’s suggestion and Henderson was laughing again.

“Definitely! Get some Toto or-”

“ _Bee Gees_?”

“Yes! A thousand times: yes!!” Henderson raved, stepping away from the wall to gesture excitedly. Billy was laughing, watching the kid’s enthusiasm. It was strange; like his body wasn’t used to it anymore. His chest felt all weird and tight even as he continued. “ _We_ should have planned this thing; not them!” the younger boy finished, looking over in the direction of the Harringtons who were deep in conversation with a group of people Billy couldn’t possibly believe were related to Steve. No doubt they were fucking _networking_ ; that these were colleagues and people that they needed to schmooze with.

The idea made his guts churn with frustration. Made him want to bubble and boil over like the _old_ Billy would; make the scene that he’d been holding back from making. But, no, it was just more pain. It hurt to think that, even in death, Steve wasn’t loved right by the ones who were supposed to love him most.

“Totally…” he breathed and the silence took hold of them again.

There was a small sniff and, when he looked down again, Billy could see the tears trickling down the other boy’s pudgy, little face. His grip on the glass tightened, sending shots of pain through his forearms, as he helplessly watched the younger boy crying. There was nothing he could say; nothing that would take this pain away from him. It was a pain that they were both fucking dealing with on the daily.

With his free hand, he reached out and gripped Henderson’s shoulder, giving him the smallest of squeezes; grip strength be damned.

“He loved you,” Henderson said, softly; almost so quiet that Billy missed it. “I didn’t understand why but… the way he talked about you? The way he _looked_ when he was talking about you? I could see it. He loved you, you know?”

It was like the younger boy was _telling_ him; like it was something Henderson thought Billy _should_ know. Thinking of the last twenty-four hours of his life, Billy assumed that he hadn’t had a chance to let the younger boy know about their post-ball confessions.

It stung to think that. To think that Steve, who _clearly_ had needed to share this shit with Henderson and Nancy, never had had the chance to share _that_. It was supposed to be _good_. They were supposed to be _happy_.

No doubt the older boy had had plans to scamper off and tell his little friends all about it the next day or in the ones following on. No doubt he had plans… Things he was going to do.

“I know…” Billy replied stiffly, looking up at the ceiling like that would do a thing to chase away the tears that were brimming up in his eyes already. “I know… he told me…”

“He did?” Henderson asked and Billy could feel his eyes on him. He gave a short nod, shaking loose a single tear that rolled all the way down to his jaw. Shit.

“Yeah. The night before… After the June Ball… He told me and-” Fuck… why was he saying all this? Why was he telling Dustin Henderson all of this? Still, the words kept coming; like telling the story fucking mattered or something. But, hell, wasn’t that what wakes were for? “He told me and I told him,” he finished and he heard Henderson’s intake of breath.

Again, there was silence. Blinking away the unshed tears, Billy emptied his whiskey and left the glass on the small table that was within arm’s reach. All the while, he’d kept his hand on Henderson’s shoulder. For some reason, it felt better to be touching him. How fucked up was that?

“That’s good,” Henderson finally spoke and Billy had to take a moment to register just what he was approving of. “It’s good you were able to tell him; that he was able to tell you. It’s good that you both knew before…” and then he trailed off.

God… of course Henderson knew he’d told him. He’d been there the whole time, hadn’t he? He’d seen it all. He’d heard it all. Billy’s desperate pleas; his desperate confessions and kisses and failure. Goddamn, it was all coming back and Billy had to bring both hands up to the sides of his head. Fuck.

Steve’s eyes. Steve’s screams. Steve’s blood. They were all back there with him again; flooding his senses and overwhelming him. He hissed from the pain of it, eyes crunching closed only to reveal those horrible flashes of red. Once again he could feel that _weight_ on his arms; the weight of Steve’s blood.

Fuck.

A hand rested on his bicep and gently eased his arm back down. Opening his eyes, Billy looked at the younger boy. His little face was all calm and sad once again, no hint of the laughter from only minutes ago.

“Let’s go outside for a smoke, yeah?” he lisped and all Billy could do was nod and be led away. Once again, he was breaking. Once again, he was becoming someone’s problem to deal with. It was ridiculous. _He_ was ridiculous. 

Outside in the fresh night's air, Billy’s hands trembled as he reached inside his suit jacket -the one that Joyce had brought over for him that morning- and retrieved the carton of smokes. Tapping one out, he waved the box in Henderson’s direction without thinking, only realising his mistake when the other boy offered him a polite refusal.

“Shit... sorry...” Billy huffed through his lips as he held the cigarette in his mouth and fumbled with the lighter.

In the end, he and Henderson spent much of the rest of the wake outside together. They didn’t talk much, just brief anecdotes about Steve but nothing serious; nothing that could break either one of them again. It was nice; strange but nice. Nancy and Jonathan were both real upset about the whole thing -hell, even _Tommy_ had stopped coming to school since his break down- but, until now, Billy hadn’t felt like anyone was even _half_ as broken about Steve as he was.

Out here in the dying sunlight, Dustin Henderson looked just about as beat-up and broken as Billy felt. In the quiet of their hiding place, the younger boy just looked so fucking sad.

\---

It was about three weeks before Billy saw Henderson again in any real, meaningful manner. Life was settling into somewhat of a routine. Billy would drive himself to school -something that Hopper promised he would monitor through weekly calls with the principle- then come home and hang with El. His break downs were decreasing from daily to once every day and a half or so.

Billy tried not to think about that. Tried not to let himself feel guilty for _not_ crying all the fucking time. With her quiet _there_ -ness, El was a real help. Whenever Billy was sinking, she would suddenly appear and either sit and wait it out with him or -on the occasion he was getting so fucked up that he couldn’t _breathe_ \- she would wrap him up in her little arms. Sometimes, when he was like this, she would hum to him; sometimes a made up tune, sometimes the chorus to songs there was no way she’d heard outside of his mind. All the same… it helped.

At least a little.

Inch by inch, Billy felt like he was being pulled back into the word. Like he was closer and closer to _starting_ to feel… something. It wasn’t better. He wasn’t better. Calling himself better hurt; set him back so much. No. He was just… _dealing_ more. He was dealing with the days and the nights that had no Steve in them.

He was _dealing_ with living in Hopper’s attic and the DIY that went hand in hand with living up there. He was _dealing_ with the nightmares that still shook him awake. He was _dealing_ with the silence in his car in lieu of playing Steve’s Mix over and over again. 

He was _dealing_.

So, three weeks after the funeral, he couldn’t say a damn thing when Henderson showed himself into Billy’s room, plonking down on the cheap-ass couch that Hopper had snagged from a second-hand store and the two of them had almost broken their backs hoisting up into the attic. He couldn’t say a damn thing when the other boy took one look at him and started to cry, big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

He couldn’t say a damn thing.

“Henderson…” he tried, having nothing that he could say to follow that. It was just a verbal cue that he knew the other boy was there; that he wasn’t going to chuck him back down the ladder that he’d taken it upon himself to climb up.

“They’re reading comics,” Henderson sniffed like that made sense; like Billy could see inside his mind. “They’re all sat down there reading comics…” he said again and, with a shuddering sigh, he covered his face and cried.

Acting on instinct, Billy felt himself climbing off the bed, where he’d been reading, and crossing over to sit beside the other boy. Like at the funeral, he put a tentative hand on his shoulder but Henderson jolted at his touch.

“How could they just-? I mean… They’re reading _comics_ …” he rambled and, like a lightbulb being flicked on, Billy got it.

He got it because he’d felt it himself. That strange feeling of resentment to the others. To Jonathan, to Nancy, to El. They were all sad - _god_ everyone was sad- but there were so many more glimmers of normality now. There were so many more times where they did the things that they would do before Steve had died.

Nancy and Jonathan had gone back to waiting for Billy and his Camaro in the morning. Every time they beat him to school, there they were. It hurt so fucking much that they now didn’t even acknowledge that there was a _fourth_ member still missing. It hurt that they were getting better.

And the rational part of Billy knew why this change was happening. The first few times they’d waited, there had been that empty pause where they all waited. There had been that feeling that _someone_ wasn’t there. And it had nearly killed Billy. Nancy had had to go to their first class and make excuses while Jonathan had taken Billy for a drive around the block so he could cry like a fucking girl.

He knew that they were making these changes to help; not to hurt. But this return to the status quo fucking hurt too. Billy hated himself for feeling it but he _was_ mad at the others for not being as fucked up as he was over this. He resented their ability to do and say and be how they’d been before.

So, yeah. He suddenly got it. The rest of the nerds were reading comics. And Henderson was still broken. Today, he _wasn’t dealing._

“Yeah, they’re reading comics…” Billy sighed because, for all his _understanding_ what the kid meant, he didn’t know what to say about it. It sucked. It really sucked. He hated that he was feeling it too but he had no answers for the kid; no nuggets of wisdom on how to get over this.

Because he wasn’t over it. He was just _dealing_.

“And I can’t… I can’t stop thinking…” Henderson gasped and Billy put his hand on his shoulder again, this time with no resulting flinch.

“… about Steve?” he offered and the other boy nodded pathetically.

“He was my friend…” he wheezed and Billy felt himself nodding along. “He was _our_ friend and he- He _died_ and they just-”

“I know, Henderson… I know…” Billy soothed as best he could while his own misery started to stir; like Henderson’s outpouring of emotion was enough to awaken his own. Like he was about to _stop dealing_ and go back to breaking.

“Why don’t they-? Why aren’t they-?” the curly-haired boy stammered and Billy shook his head.

“Everyone deals differently. Everyone-”

“You’re not _dealing_!” the younger boy objected and Billy felt the words hit him right in the gut. “You’re floating around like a ghost, wearing _flannel_ shirts buttoned all the way up and sitting in silence in your room! That’s not you! You’re not dealing!”

“Well I was in love with him, wasn’t I?” Billy shot back, voice breaking with the emotions that were ready and taking hold once again. Henderson was right; having your messed-up feelings so close to the surface wasn’t _dealing_. It was just playing make believe. Just play-acting at dealing. “I promised him I would keep him safe and look what fucking happened!” Henderson had turned now to look at Billy and he could feel the tears flowing again. Fucking hell. “I let him down! I fucking let that happen to him; I let him die!”

“Billy-”

“So, yeah; I’m not dealing! I try but I’m not dealing! He’s dead and I’m not dealing!” Billy cried, breaking down once again. Without hesitation the younger boy was wrapping his arms around Billy, pulling him down into an awkwardly-positioned hug. It was stupid and wet and weird but Billy sank into it.

Together they cried, much like they had in the back of the Camaro before. It was so fucking strange, this new connection that they had. No one seemed quite so fucked up. No one seemed to get it.

After a wholly too-long amount of time to be hugging a tween that you don’t actually _like_ , Billy finally straightened up. Once again, he’d reigned it in. Once again, he was playing at _dealing_. Once again, he looked like he could be normal. And, to some extent, Henderson did too. Wiping away the wetness from his cheeks, he breathed out while holding Billy’s gaze.

“Thanks Billy…” he said and, once again, Billy understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more angsty ones, I promise.  
> Billy will start to heal!! He will start to actually _deal_!


	2. Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slowness. Working remotely is hard when no one else seems to understand how computers work!   
> I am cursed with understanding. ^_^'''

Summer had hit Hawkins hard. It was hot and sticky and the steam seemed to rise off the roads more often than not. Back before all of the tragedy and _investment_ , Billy would have simply scorned Indiana; would have said that it couldn’t even do _heat_ right. That the heat here was oppressive and horrible whereas the Californian heat was sweet and freeing.

Now he just felt beyond that shit.

From living with Hopper and El, Billy had learned a great deal more about the group’s dealings with the Upside Down; had learned about the strange situation between Hopper and the girl Billy, until recently, had believed to be his daughter. He quickly got on board with the house the rules; the ‘don’t be stupid’ rules. While El scowled and acted like they were the worst, Billy knew that they just weren’t. _Neil’s_ rules had been the worst: the ‘do exactly what I say’ rule; the ‘be Max’s full-time guardian’ rule; the ‘do not exist’ rule.

All the same, the summer heat seemed to soften the rules; melt them like wax. More and more, El was being allowed to go to public places. More and more, she was pushing her boundaries and, more and more, Hopper was letting her.

With school having finally finished, Billy had little to do except give El and the nerds rides about town. Unlike when Neil had _demanded_ he do it, this was his choice. While Max had her skateboard and the boys had their bikes, El was still a ways away from persuading Hopper to let her have either of those. It only felt right, therefore, that Billy drove her about. It only felt right that he drive the rest of them about too; or at least Henderson, El and Little Byers. Little Byers so that Billy had a chance to catch up with Jonathan and Joyce on a near-daily basis, Max because, even with Neil having finished with him, it still felt like his responsibility and Henderson…

That strange connection between him and Henderson was still a thing. Billy felt it was only right he give the little lisper a ride now that Steve wasn’t here to do it; now that he knew how much Henderson _wished_ Steve was here to do it.

The first time he’d pulled up outside of the house on Cherry Lane, Billy was gripping the wheel tightly. Neil’s car wasn’t on the drive but he still felt like the old bastard was going to come charging out like a bat out of hell. As he watched El walk up to the front door -as he watched Susan answer and _definitely_ spot the Camaro- his knuckles turned white. Little Byers was sitting in the back and Billy could feel his eyes on him in the rear-view mirror.

It always felt like that kid _knew_ something. The way he looked at Billy made him feel this strange pull of _discomfort_. He remembered Steve babbling on about Nancy and Jonathan thinking the kid was queer too and maybe they were right. Maybe he was and he had a radar for shit like that; maybe he knew about Billy and Steve.

Or maybe Henderson had just told him. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore.

As much as life was still trudging on, that fact still hadn’t shifted from Billy’s brain: nothing mattered anymore. Not really.

And yet that didn’t feel right to even think anymore. Things did matter. Nancy and Jonathan and El and Henderson and Hopper mattered. Fuck, the whole fucking gang of people that he’d been left with mattered in their own ways.

It was just him; just Billy that didn’t matter. Nothing to do with his past, his present, his future, seemed to matter anymore. It wasn’t a self pitying thing; it was just how it was. The meaning -the _future_ \- that he’d found for himself had died with Steve and that was all there was to it.

So Billy didn’t growl anything at the pasty kid in the back seat when he stared at him. He let him look; let him _see._

In the end, Max came out of the house no problem. She looked at the Camaro for all of thirty seconds before nodding and following the little psychic down the path towards them. Threw herself into the backseat with El as if there was nothing amiss. Even chatted with the other two a bit during the ride to Henderson’s. Billy glanced in the rear-view mirror a couple of times but she wasn’t looking in his direction; it was like he didn’t exist anymore.

But that didn’t matter. _Billy_ didn’t matter.

Only when they arrived at Wheeler’s -only when they had all clambered out and started towards the house- that she said anything.

“Billy…” she said rather bluntly, causing him to turn. He hadn’t planned on going into the basement and watching the nerds play but he had wanted to see Nancy and Karen and, hell, even Tiny Wheeler. The little thing was actually starting to warm to him in her own way, now only staring at him rather than hiding and peeping like she’d done almost the whole time he’d lived in her family’s house.

Still, he turned to look at the girl who’d been his step-sister. With Neil’s dismissal of him, Billy wasn’t sure what that really made them anymore. Had they been closer -had there been less bad blood- maybe nothing would have changed but… it felt different.

“Max?” he replied, hands gesturing out in a gesture that looked put-out. It was like his body was still stuck in its program; unable to shake those seasoned responses. Still, Max’s face looked unchanged., that little determined frown on her face. She was steeling herself for something.

“Can we talk?” she asked, motioning towards the Camaro.

It felt a bit dramatic, having to climb back into the car to have this ‘talk’, but, then again, between the two of them they were pretty fucking dramatic. So, Billy dutifully walked back round to the driver’s side and climbed back in. Max climbed into her old place in the passenger’s seat and sighed, hands instinctively going for the belt before she stopped herself.

There was a tense silence but neither of them broke it. Billy’s mind ticked over the various things that Max could want to discuss with him. There was so much: him leaving; him being here; him in general. And that was before he started to even think of the shit that was probably happening back at Cherry Lane.

There was so much.

“You okay?” Billy finally heard himself ask. It came out of him unbidden but - _fuck_ \- there had been an itch under his skin about her; about Neil having no one to beat on anymore. As much shit as there was between them, Billy still couldn’t bear the thought of Max being the new channel for Neil to vent his frustrations at the world.

“What, since you _left_?” she answered sharply, her face twisting up a little.

“Yeah. Since I left,” Billy agreed. There was no use in arguing semantics with her. If she wanted to believe that Billy simply _left_ her, there was probably no fighting it anyway. It didn’t matter what she thought of him. _He_ didn’t matter.

“I’m fine,” she said with a huff, her gaze turned to look right out the windscreen. She scowled and folded her arms and shuffled in her seat. Billy simply sat and watched. She wanted to say _something._ “I just… I want to know _why_. Why did you leave? Why did you move into _Mike’s_ house? Why did you move into _El’s_ house? You always said you were going back to California when you could. Why the hell are you still here?” she started and it sounded like the floodgates opening. All the questions; they’d clearly been circling in her head for a _while_.

“I…” Billy started. What answer could he give? The truth was hard to verbalise; hard to explain without just telling her fucking everything. “I couldn’t live there anymore…” he tried because it was true. Nancy had been the one to force the issue but, goddamn, it had been a long time coming. Steve hadn’t wanted him living there; would have probably let him move into the Harrington Manor if Billy had asked.

“But then why didn’t you go back to California?” Max pressed and she was looking at him now, an angry, hurt, confused expression on her face. “Back to San Diego where you were happy. Back home,” she continued and it started to sound wistful; like that was her plan too.

Perhaps she was mad that he _could_ go and she couldn’t. Perhaps she was made that he didn’t go and didn’t take her with him. Perhaps she was just fucking mad.

“I… can’t…” Billy tried but every explanation was so wrapped up in Steve. He was the heart of it; he was Billy’s heart. There was so California without Steve. Not anymore. That had been _their_ dream. His old dream of going back to was just a memory; would have just been trying to step _backwards_ into the _past_. San Francisco had bee a _future_ ; had been a way _forwards_.

Max stared at him for a long time as if she was expecting him to go on. The silence surrounded them but all Billy could do was sigh. It was a lot. Everything was so much. It had been 37 days since Steve had died. 37 days where Steve Harrington hadn’t been alive. 37 days in which Billy had _felt_ his absence over and over in so many fucking ways.

Yeah, he didn’t have a total meltdown _every_ day anymore, but -god- he could feel Steve not being there in every fucking thing he did. Steve was gone not just in the negative spaces that he _would_ have occupied; he was gone in the spaces where _other_ things existed. It hurt so much every fucking day and Billy was so fucking exhausted from it.

He hung his head low, still feeling the weight of Max’s eyes on him.

“Dustin said this is about Steve…” she started and it sounded like she was hesitant; like she thought he would explode at her or something. “He told me that I should talk to you… that it wasn’t his place to say anything…” she continued and Billy was an honest mixture of touched and amazed that the little kid had been so fucking loyal.

“Yeah…” he sniffed, his shoulders coming up a little. “It’s about Steve…” God… his name felt so sad on his tongue. The way he said the name had changed; it was just so fucking sad.

“Just... _why_? I know you two were friends near the end but...” Max sighed, leaning back in her seat as her hands came up in a despairing gesture. There was a small slapping sound as then came back down against her thighs. “God, Billy, I thought you _hated_ him? If I hadn’t used that needle on you in November-"

 _Hated_ him? _Hated_ Steve?

Billy could remember the conversation they had. The time that he’d called Steve _perfect_ and told him how much he’d _hated_ him when they first met. How that had meat something so different from how Max thought.

No. He couldn’t have her think that.

“I was in love with him, Max,” turning to face her properly, he said it. It was true. It was real. It was the epicentre of all of this. Billy was in love with Steve; was _still_ in love with him even 37 days later. 37 days after Steve had died and left this world, Billy was still fucking in love with him.

“What-?” the red-head snapped as if she hadn’t really comprehended what he’d said. Then she paused, taking in his expression, eyes widening a little as her mouth hung open. “No... you weren’t... you...” she stammered, every phrase punctuated with little halting sounds. She was processing; she couldn’t fucking get it. “ _What_?” she finally asked and it didn’t sound _hateful_. It didn’t sound disgusted. It just sounded confused; like her mind was utterly blown.

“Me and Steve; we were together. I was in love with him...” Billy repeated the last sentiment because she needed to know that. He didn’t _hate_ Steve; he never truly _hated_ Steve. Not when he’d had him pinned to the Byers’ floor, punching again and again, and not when he’d held him in his arms at the end of it all.

“But you're-" Max stammered, eyes widening still.

“A guy?” Billy sighed but she was shaking her head.

“-An _asshole_!” she corrected and Billy rolled his eyes. Really? _That_ was her only roadblock in believing it? He and Steve couldn’t be a thing because he was an asshole? “You’re... You’re not lying, are you?”

“Do you really think I’d lie about _this_?” Billy asked flatly because, honestly, of all the things to make up, being a faggot really wasn’t a choice. There was no doubt in his mind that, with telling Max and Henderson already clued in, the rest of the nerds weren’t going to be unaware much longer; if they even were now.

“... so, your dad’s...” Max started up again, puzzling it out for him to hear. “All this time, when he called you a- When he called you _those things_... All this time, he actually...”

Billy knew she’d heard what Neil called him -the old bastard wasn’t exactly quiet when he was firing off at him- but it felt strange her acknowledging it. It was like he’d been able to convince himself that she wasn’t that aware; that she didn’t know everything. Yeah, she’d seen the results and that _bad_ beating after he’d grabbed her, but maybe she didn’t know everything.

It felt weird that she’d heard it all.

“Yeah, he meant it,” he said grimly. It was true after all. The way Neil spoke about gay people had totally shaped the way Billy spoke -the way Billy thought- about himself. Even now, after Steve and Nancy’s admonishments, the word used in his mind was _faggot_.

“I thought it was just what he called you...” she mumbled and Billy could hear the shame in her voice; like she couldn’t believe her own naivety.

“For a while, yeah, at the start. But...” Billy accepted, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was so _Steve_ that, upon realising what he was doing, his heart panged with pain. Fuck… “After he caught me with Alex...” he continued but suddenly Max was jolting in her seat, leaning closer like he’d just spilled some hot fucking gossip.

“ _Alex?_ As in _Alex_ , Alex? Alex _Hayes_?” she rushed and it suddenly occurred to him that, yeah, she hadn’t known about them either. Still, the reaction was too big. It was too loud.

“Do we know another Alex?” he snipped but Max wasn’t deterred.

“There’s one in my grade. Alex Delacourt.”

“Well, no, Max. Neil didn’t fucking catch me with fucking _Alex Delacourt_!” he couldn’t stop himself from shooting back. Goddamn, even in _this_ state -this pathetic, broken state- Max was still able to wind him up like no one else.

He supposed this was the ‘sister’ effect; that there was a certain link between siblings -and, in their case, step-siblings- that just meant they knew where each other’s buttons were. Apparently, although many parts of Billy had been destroyed by Steve’s death, that particular button was still there and still working. Apparently, Max could still piss him off.

“Okay! Jesus!” she sighed, holding up her hands in surrender and Billy rolled his eyes at her. Honestly, how did she make him slip back into this? He didn’t know whether to be grateful for the return of something normal or to feel _guilty_ that he wasn’t still mourning. “So... you and Alex were together? Like, _together,_ together?” she added and Billy felt a second wave of irritation.

“What part of Neil catching me with him did you not get?” he snarked but she was suddenly looking like she was working something out. Billy braced himself for whatever conclusion she drew; she could be thinking fucking anything at this point.

“... when did he catch you?” she asked and he felt his body go cold. Here it was: that terrible truth that, even when he’d fucking _hated_ her, he’d shielded her from. The truth about it being her fault. Goddamn, _this_ wasn’t something he wanted to share. _This_ wasn’t what he thought they’d be talking about.

“Max-"

“ _When_ , Billy?” she pressed, asking in earnest like she knew the answer was dark. Like she knew the weight of it; the significance of it.

Billy sighed and clenched his hands. The now-familiar pain shot up his forearms and he tried to focus on that. Today was the 15th of July. It was 37 days since Steve had died. It was also 10 days since the _anniversary_ of Alex’s death. There was a _lot_ of feelings right now.

“That night I didn’t get you. The night you walked home and told him where we liked to hang,” Billy explained shortly.

No. He couldn’t tell her. He _would never_ tell her.

Alex had been dead for a year and laying the blame at Max’s feet, no matter how much it _belonged_ there, wouldn’t change shit. _Knowing_ that _you_ caused someone’s death -especially someone you care about- was the worst feeling in the world. Billy knew it all too well now. There was no way he was going to tell her.

He would take it to his grave.

“Oh,” Max said simply and Billy could hear her understanding. At least in that, she sounded like she _knew_ her role. She didn’t need to know that’s what led to Alex’s death. This was enough. “He really _went_ for you that night... I just thought it was because you left me-"

“Max, I didn’t leave you-" Billy tried because, once again, the story was warping out of shape. Like with her saying that he’d hated Steve, her view of the world was just _wrong_.

“Yeah, yeah...” she waved him off and Billy clenched his fists as tight as the pain in his arms would allow. Once again there was silence. Once again they both just sat there and processed. The Wheelers and the nerds were probably wondering where they were. Hell, they’d probably peeked out of the windows to see them both sitting in Camaro like a couple of weirdos.

Suddenly Max was sitting back in her chair and running both her hands over her face with a dramatic, “God...”

“What are you thinking?” Billy asked when she didn’t say anything else; when the silence threatened to consume them once more.

“How it all makes so much sense now? How _nothing_ makes sense at the same time? I mean… You and Alex were so… Alex was...” she spoke, her hands gesturing like each rambling sentiment needed some kind of visual interpretation. “But…You were always talking about _girls_ ,” she tried, turning only her head to gage Billy’s reaction.

“Max...” he said with a sigh and her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“You _weren’t_ talking about girls… You were talking about _each other_...” she concluded aloud. Honestly, like so many other things with Alex, Billy couldn’t remember they kinds of things she was talking about. Maybe they _had_ thought they were really clever one day and talked about a ‘hot blonde’ or something but, honestly, Billy couldn’t recall. It felt sick and wrong that he couldn’t remember. It felt sick and wrong that, after _months_ as boyfriends and _years_ as friends, so much was forgotten already. It felt worse that, having only been together a matter of weeks, shit with Steve would probably fade away too. Like writing in the sand on the beach, it would be washed away forever. “Ew! You were flirting right in front of me and I didn’t know it!” Max cried out, bringing Billy back into the moment.

“You make it sound like that’s all we did,” he said, still unsure whether or not that was the case.

“Well...” Max shrugged and Billy felt none the wiser. “God... it makes so much sense. Alex was obsessed with you. He would always talk to me about you. I always just thought he was trying to get dirt on you...” she explained and Billy couldn’t stop the small smile in the corner of his mouth. It was just a small one, just a reaction to the memory of Alex being such a shit.

Some things were lost but not that. Not the way they’d laughed and messed around and really been _friends_ as well as _boyfriends_. Like how things had been with Steve…

“He probably was, to be fair,” Billy said, fighting to keep control of the emotions that were just yo-yoing inside him. It was fucking exhausting.

“But you two were... And _Steve_?” Max continued and they were back here again; back to her not quite believing it all. Fuck… it felt so fucking weird that, after all his efforts to conceal it, now he was having to _convince_ someone that they had been together. “You were with Steve as well?”

“Yeah...” he said simply. What more could he say?

“But he was with _Nancy_. She’s a _girl_...”

“Yeah... He liked both,” he offered with a shrug. Nancy’s key word: bisexual. Billy wasn’t certain he felt like explaining that particular piece of vocabulary to her right now.

“Both what?” Max asked with a tilt of the head.

“Both girls and guys,” Billy shrugged again.

“Seriously? Is that a thing?” Max shot back, genuine and a little confused.

“Apparently,” Billy nodded.

“And he was with _you_?”

“Yes,” Billy replied tensely. Once again, his hands were clenching. Once again, there was a spark in his gut. God, she _really_ could get under his skin.

“ _Seriously_?” And that was the last straw.

“Yes, Max, he was with me -I was with him- why is that so hard to understand?” he snarled and Max drew away a little, the brief widening of her eyes betraying the underlying fear that she still had towards him. Goddamn, he really was her version of the boogeyman, wasn’t he?

“Because you’re horrible,” she replied with a cross little face, masking her fear with anger; just as he did. They were too similar. That was probably the root of her ability to wind him up so much, really. She was too much like him. She knew which buttons to press because they were so much like her own.

There was a tense silence before she suddenly softened. Her eyes drifted down from Billy and back into her lap, the corners of her mouth turned down.

“And he was nice. He was really nice...” she sighed and Billy could hear it there in her voice. That loss. Yeah, she was doing better than him and Henderson and Nancy and Jonathan but she wasn’t _not_ cut up about it. She wasn’t made of stone. Steve had been a big part of the whole Upside Down gang; he’d been the one left to protect them back in November. There was a bond there that Billy could see now.

“He was... Too nice for an asshole like me,” Billy sighed, unclenching his fists and feeling the blood flowing freely through them once again. It felt weird; so close to pins and needles but not quite there. “But we _were_ together, Max. We were together and I was in love with him,” he repeated again because there couldn’t be any doubt about it. He hadn’t told people when Steve was alive; hadn’t made Steve feel cherished enough when it mattered. There was no way that, now he was gone, Billy would let it go unsaid.

He loved Steve Harrington.

Max looked back at him sadly and nodded.

“That’s…” she started but bit her lip when her voice wobbled. A tear skipped down her cheek and, with a sniff, she wiped it away. “And now he’s…”

“Gone,” Billy finished for her and she nodded again.

“Just like Alex,” she observed, vocalising the pain that Billy had to deal with now for the rest of his fucking life. He gave a curt nod.

“Yeah…” he said and, god, it hurt. It hurt to know that the two boys he’d _loved_ were both gone. Like his mother before them, they had gone before their time and it was all his fault.

A few seconds passed and Billy had to shake his head to force his way out of the spiral. They were about to go into the Wheeler’s house. He’d promised himself that today -on day 37 without Steve- he wasn’t going to cry on either of the Wheeler women. He couldn’t show up in tears now. There was no way.

“I couldn’t stay, Max. Neil was going to- be _Neil_ again and, without Steve, I just couldn’t…” he sighed, bringing them full-circle, back to the place where they’d started. She’d asked him a question and, now that she _knew_ , he owed her an answer. “I wouldn’t have been strong enough… He would have killed me…” he admitted and he knew she must know it was true.

“And _California_...?” Max asked and the meaning was so plain. How many times had he said that Hawkins was just a temporary thing? How many times had he bragged and boasted about leaving this shit hole?

How much had that changed since Steve had come into the picture? How much had it changed when he left the picture once again?

“That… wasn’t the plan anymore…” he admitted quietly. The ball of pain in his gut was forming once again, that cancerous _hurt_ that threatened to consume him.

“You were going to go with Steve,” Max guessed and Billy nodded weakly.

“Yeah…”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me this? I could have helped you!” she sighed and it sounded so fucking stupid when she said it.

“Max…”

“Why does _Dustin_ know this? Why didn’t you talk to me?” she continued, ignoring him. He could explain how Steve had been the one to tell -explain that Billy himself had told no one- but there really was no fucking point. She wasn’t really asking. She was just hurt. “We used to talk-” she said and, god, it once again sounded like a place where he could tell all. But no. No fucking way. “Although, I guess we didn’t…”

“Max, you do realise what people generally think of faggots, right? I know Neil’s an asshole but…” he started off with frustration in his words but it quickly petered out. He was so feeling tired from all the emotional ups and downs. “This isn’t something I’m exactly _proud_ of, you know,” he added.

“Do I look like I care that you’re into guys?” Max scoffed and, for the second time in recent memory, Billy felt genuinely surprised. He knew not everyone was like Neil but, honestly, he really hadn’t expected _another_ person that he knew to just… not care that he was into guys. Between Max, Karen and Nancy, anyone would think that it was _normal._ “I care that you’re an asshole. I care that you hurt Lucas. I care that, at every opportunity you get, you make my life worse,” she continued and this time Billy couldn’t argue with her. “I don’t care who you’re getting off with.”

“Well… I _do_ ,” Billy said in a moment of honesty that she hadn’t actually asked for. “Or I did… I don’t know anymore…”

“You really loved him?” she asked and Billy nodded, biting his lip.

“Yes, Max. I really loved him…” he sighed, wiping at his eyes before they could start to fucking water again. Goddamn, he really didn’t need this.

“I’m sorry Billy… I’m sorry he’s gone…” Max said glumly and Billy sniffed pathetically.

There was another lull. Another quiet between them. Max’s words circled his mind over and over. Ever since Alex had died, he really had treated her like shit. At the time, it had felt justified. At the time, he _knew_ she’d deserved it. If she hadn’t told Neil about where he and Alex hung out, Neil would have never found out about them. He would have never hired those fucking guys and had Alex beaten to fucking death.

It had been so clear that Max was to blame for all of it.

But, god, after all of the shit with Steve… it just didn’t feel like her role mattered so much. Neil was an asshole who was going to find out sooner or later. Max couldn’t have known what was going on; couldn’t have known what Neil was going to find.

“I’m sorry too Max,” he said. It was time he said it. It was time he put it all aside. 

“Yeah?” she almost whispered, sounding like she hardly dared interrupt him.

“I’m sorry I’m an asshole. I’m sorry I make your life worse… I… I’ve just been so mad since…” he continued. It felt strangely freeing to say it.

“Since Alex died?” Max finished for him and he nodded.

“Yeah… since then.”

“Is that why you broke Bobby’s arm? Why you got us moved here?”

“Max-!” Billy sighed. _Still_ her narrative was off. But, without that key piece of information, it always would be, wouldn’t it?

“Billy, I need to know! Please, we’re finally _talking_ ,” she pressed and Billy sighed again. At least he could straighten it out a little, right? Take that shit Bobby Day down off the pedestal that Max had plopped him up on for being the poor, wounded victim.

“Your precious Bobby Day put graffiti on Alex’s grave, Max. He wrote ‘rot faggot’ and was laughing and I just-” he started but Max’s eyes were wide again, leaning closer with recognition on her face.

“ _He_ wrote that?” she gasped. “Bobby was the one who wrote that?”

“Yeah,” Billy stammered, not having expected that reaction. It wasn’t exactly a publicised event and Hayes’ had cleaned that shit off pretty quickly. Billy honestly hadn’t expected her to have known it had ever been a thing.

“You should have broken both his arms…” Max said decidedly and Billy felt his mouth twitching into a smile again. For all her faults, Max was still pretty badass. He’d been right to take her seriously when she’d threatened him with Steve’s bat.

“Believe me, I wanted to,” he replied and Max nodded.

“I still blame you. For us coming here, you know,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat to look at the road.

“Okay,” Billy replied, copying the action. Things felt… different. Not close or friendly but _different_.

“But I’m sorry for being a dick about it. I know there are monsters and it’s cold and it smells but… there are good people here too,” she said, still not looking at him. There was a small tinge to her cheeks and he wasn’t sure if it was the thought of apologising to him or the thought of Sinclair that was causing it. “I like it here.”

“I was starting to…” Billy admitted and Max exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry Billy…”

“Yeah… me too…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of people were wondering whether or not things would clear up between these two.  
> This wouldn't fix everything but it's their starting point.


End file.
